


Of Course I Do.  I Thought You Do, Too!

by WhatLocked



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Trope Tuesday, in a very loose sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13897839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: Sherlock arranges his and John’s wedding.  It would have been nice if John had known about it before he got to the altar.





	Of Course I Do.  I Thought You Do, Too!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay my lovelies, this week’s Tuesdays Trope (being posted on Thursday)was, as you probably guessed from the tags, Arranged Marriage. Now, I sort of cheated with this one as you will see when you read the fic. Hope you don’t mind :D
> 
> Also, just a quick note to let you all know that there will be a fic for last weeks Trope Tuesday, which was Amnesia, but it is a bit longer and is taking more time to write, but it will be here eventually, I promise!

~~~~~~~~~~

 

To be fair, John should have seen it coming.  It wasn’t as if Sherlock hadn’t made it abundantly clear that he was arranging their wedding.  So to stand there and practically  _scream_ at Sherlock, stating that they weren’t even engaged (of course they were - John said yes) was a slight overreaction on John’s behalf.

 

**Three weeks ago…..**

 

Sherlock had never, in his whole entire life, actually felt boneless.  Not when he had paid three kids to spin him super fast on the wizzy-dizzy to see how long it was before he threw up an entire bag of fairy floss (the answer to that question is forever.  Apparently, unlike Mycroft, Sherlock has an iron stomach), nor when he had his first sexual experience at the age of twelve when he decided he would see what all the boys in the school bathrooms were getting excited about (and while masturbation had been quite nice, it certainly hadn’t been anything to write home about, in more sense than one).  He had never felt this way when he had experienced drugs for the first time, (they had left him bouncing, lazy, moody, sick, philosophical, but never boneless), and definitely not with any other sexual experience at the hands of another person (which had been far and few between and while pleasant, never mind-blowingly so).

So, to feel completely soft and pliable and rubbery now was a completely new experience for Sherlock Holmes.  It could be that John was, in fact, a fantastic lover, quite possibly the best in the world, or it could be the anticipation that had built up over the years, or it could be the fumes from the chemical soaked rags that were hanging in the bathroom, or maybe it was a combination if all three, but regardless of the reason, Sherlock Holmes could not move and for once in his life, he didn’t care.  All he cared about was feeling this good forever.

Sherlock was vaguely aware of the bed moving beside him and of something cool and damp (hopefully not soaked in formaldehyde, chlorine or Snuggle fabric softener) dragging over his skin, but he was too blank to actually register that John was looking after him.  Why should he register it. It was something that John had always done, he was just doing it in a different way now.

Eventually, his mind cleared enough to realise that John had climbed back into bed with him and was curled up against him with his arm over Sherlocks stomach.  Sherlock would try to offer some form of affection back but while his mind was coming back on line, his body most certainly wasn’t.

Sherlock closed his eyes, the only thing that would move, and was vaguely aware of John saying something.  Concentrating all of his effort and concentration to the oral area of his face Sherlock forced himself to say “Marry me.”  It came out mumbled, but it was out. The response he got was John kissing his shoulder and replying “Always, Sherlock.”

Blissfully happy with life, Sherlock fell asleep.

 

**Two days later….**

 

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

Sherlock looked at John, who was looking up at him with a confused and sleepy look on his face as Sherlock tightened the plastic tab around his finger.  He supposed it was a fair question for three o’clock in the morning, even if it were obvious what he was doing.

“Measuring your fingers, John” Sherlock replied.  He had started with just the left hand ring finger, then curiosity got the better of him and he decided to measure all of them.  It was a good thing ebay had been selling packets of 20 disposable ring sizers. It meant he could do his own as well.

“Right” John mumbled as Sherlock slipped a new tab around his little finger, and then went back to sleep.

 

**Four days later….**

 

“Please tell me that that is not what it looks like.”

Sherlock looked up from what he was doing to see that John was holding Watson a bit tighter than he normally would.  Her squirming and frown was a clear indication that this was not appreciated on her behalf.

“If it looks like a bunch of beautiful, yet very harmless flowers, then it is not what it looks like.  On the other hand, if it looks like stems of English Broom, White Snakeroot and Lily of the Valley, then I am sorry to say it is exactly what it looks like.”

“Sherlock, all of those are extremely poisonous.  Please, make them go away. Far, far away and immediately” and with that, he turned around and carried Watson out of the flat and down to Mrs Hudson’s flat, presumably for milk and cookies.

Later that night, when Watson was tucked safely into bed, Sherlock pulled the flowers out again.

“Preference?” he asked John.

“You have a bottle of acid that would work” John replied.  “Or there is always the fireplace, or you could just bag them and bin them, outside.  Or maybe never bring them into the flat again.”

Sherlock glared at John.  “You are being deliberately obtuse, John.”

“Says the man who brought extremely deadly plants into the flat which is home to a very curious toddler.  Well, done you.”

“But your preference, John?”  Surely John could hear how impatient Sherlock was getting.  He wasn’t usually this slow.

“Sunflowers, if you must know.  Why?”

Sherlock considered this.  Of all the things he would have thought John would have liked, he never would have guessed that something so safe and ugly would be his choice.

“We need to get this perfect” Sherlock replied and threw the flowers into the fire, ignoring Johns odd look of what almost looked like confusion.

 

**The following day…**

 

“No” Sherlock mumbled, throwing the shirt onto the bed, making Watson laugh as it covered her head.  The first time had been an accident, and then it had become a game.

“No” Sherlock almost sighed, throwing the next shirt onto the bed, not aiming at Watson as she was still pulling the other one off of herself.

“Oh, god, definitely not” Sherlock shuddered, dropping that one to the floor with full intentions of burning it later on.

This was depressing.  His partner, his love his John, had nothing decent to wear.  Nothing formal. Nothing even semi-formal. How did this man manage to get through life with cheap cotton, checks and stripes?  

Sherlock was going to have to rectify this, and soon.  But at the moment he had other things to worry about.

“More” Watson called out excitedly and Sherlock pulled a salmon atrocity out of the wardrobe and threw it over her blonde curls.  The child squealed with laughter and proceeded to try and pull it off again.

“Ummm, someone want to tell me what is going on in here?” came the oddly calm and bemused voice of John from behind him and Sherlock whirled around to see John standing in the doorway, work bag still clutched in his hand.

“You have nothing of value in here” Sherlock scoffed, once he realised John wasn’t pissed at him for chucking his clothing on the bed.

“Yeah, I figured there was enough posh in there with all your stuff” was Johns reply as he stepped to the bed and lifted Watson up, sending her into a fit of giggles as he pulled her up onto his shoulders.

Sherlock threw a glare in his direction.  His stuff was not _posh_.  It was stylish.

“Not to fear.  I know every inch of you.  I’ll get word to my man.”

John stopped tickling Watsons oddly socked feet.  “I don’t think I want to know what that means.”

“Just know the suit is sorted.”

Sherlock walked past John and out of the room before John made him hang all the shirts back up.

“I already have a suit” John called after him.

The affronted look would have made John laugh if he could have seen it.  

“No, John.  You have what is a step up from a hessian sack.  Trust that that will be rectified, soon.”

 

**Three days later…**

 

“Tell me what you think of these” Sherlock said, pulling John to look at the wall above the couch.

“Are they all dead?” John asked, looking up at the photos that were tacked to the walls.

“What?  No. John, focus.  What do you think?”

“They all look very happy.  Have they gone missing?”

“Not that I know of and I don’t mean of the subjects.  The quality. What do you think?”

John looked from the photos, to Sherlock and then back to the photos with that small frown that he got when he wasn’t quite sure what was going on.  

“I honestly don’t know.  None are blurry, there are no thumbs in the shot, so they are already doing better than me.”

Sherlock let out a growl of frustration.  God, it was like having a conversation about the house rules of Monopoly with Mycroft.

“Never mind, I’ll completely handle this.  Go away.”

John walked away, grumbling about how Sherlock had dragged him over there.

 

**Five days later…**

 

“Never took you as a _Take That_ fan” John said, walking into the room.  Watson looked up from her blocks and Sherlock looked up from his laptop.

“Not a favourite of yours, then?” Sherlock asked.

“God no.  Not a fan of any boy band.  How do you even know who they are?”

“Cosmos list of top wedding songs.”

“Right.  So, stir-fry or risotto for tea?”  Clearly, John didn’t want to discuss this.  Weather it was the topic of music, boy bands or Cosmo, Sherlock wasn’t sure.  

“Stry” Watson shouted from the floor, deciding their dinner for them.

“What bands do you like?” Sherlock asked as John headed into the kitchen.  

John gave a shrug.  “Lots of stuff” he replied, which was no help at all.  “Erykah Badu, Queens of the Stone Age, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder.  Don’t mind Nine Inch Nails, either. To be honest, I mainly like your stuff a lot.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say he didn’t know any of those artists when John’s final comment actually hit him.  He liked Sherlocks stuff. A lot.

Suddenly, composing a playlist was that much simpler and it was done with a small smile on his face.

 

**Four days later…**

 

So far Sherlock could cross off carrot, pink champagne, red velvet and anything with raspberries in it.  Vanilla was also off of the list for the simple fact that that was boring.

The top three runners were coconut & lime, chocolate and rhubarb & rose petal.

There was only one left for John to sample.  The orange and berry with dark chocolate.

Sherlock left the piece on a plate for John, sitting on the table.  Watson had already devoured one and a half pieces and was eyeing off the one he had left for John.  

“Cake” she called, reaching her arms up to the food, from her spot on the living room floor demanding the cake to come to her, rather than go and attempt to get it herself.  

Sherlock was reflecting on how many of his habits she had picked up when John came up the stairs, and entered the flat.

“Seriously, more cake” John practically groaned as he spied the plate on the table.

“Last one, John, I promise.”

John broke a piece of the cake of with the small fork that was next to the plate and Sherlock was so distracted by the way it slid into his mouth and at how his lips closed over the fork that he almost forgot to gauge Johns reaction.

The almost sexualised moan and the look of pure rapture that came over John’s face told Sherlock all he needed to know.

Now he just had to get Watson into her bed upstairs, John into their bed and put the rest of that cake to good use.

 

**Back at the beginning…**

 

“What do you mean, this is our bloody wedding” John shouted.  Seriously, why he had dragged Sherlock away from their guests when he was only going to be loud enough for them to hear was beyond Sherlock.  What was even more puzzling was why he was confused as to why they were there.

“Our wedding, John.  It’s the day that me and you have decided to get married.  That is what a wedding is. There will be vows, signatures, cake, speeches and dancing.  You should know this. You have already done it once and why are you so surprised? You helped plan it, for crying out loud.”

John had that look on his face.  The one he had before he punched him before they met The Woman for the first time.  Sherlock took a step back.

“Sherlock” he said very quietly and very carefully.  “We have only been going out for three weeks. We were not even engaged and I think I would know if I was planning a wedding.  As you said, it wouldn’t be my first time.”

It was now Sherlocks turn to get that annoyed look on his face.

“Of, course we were engaged, John.  I asked you the first night we had sex.”

“Nope” John replied, rather adamantly.  “I would definitely remember you asking me to marry you.”

“Well, clearly your memory is lacking.  After we had cleaned up, I said ‘Marry me’ and you replied with _‘Always, Sherlock.”_

“Nope” John said, shaking his head.  “You said, ‘Stay with me’.”

“I most certainly did not” Sherlock scoffed.  

The arguing on this topic went back and forth a few more times before both men conceded that both were tired and that words weren’t communicated properly (which then sparked an argument with John saying Sherlock wasn’t speaking clearly and Sherlock stating that John wasn’t listening properly).

“So what you are saying, then, is that you don’t actually want to marry me?” Sherlock finally snapped, breaking them out of the circles they were going in with their arguments.

John, looking furious, opened his mouth to snap back a retort, only to stop and close his mouth, his face going from mad, to thoughtful.

“No, that’s not what I am saying.”

“So you will marry me?” Sherlock asked, suddenly feeling nervous.  He waited what felt like forever for Johns answer.

“Yes” he finally replied.  

Sherlock smiled.  John smiled. Sherlock stopped smiling.

“Then what is the issue?  Why are we standing here, instead of at the altar?”

John frowned again.  “It would have been nice to know I was getting married today.  To have some say in it.”

Sherlock let out a groan of frustration.  “John. Apart from the photographers, you have made every decision.”

“Again, I think I would have remembered.”

Sherlock shook his head.  This was just like trying to discuss _Game of Thrones_ with his mother.

“You picked the flowers, John.”

At this, John looked from Sherlock to the room behind him at all of the bouquets of sunflowers that were around the room.  The green of their ties, Watsons dress and table decorations had been selected to complement the sunflowers.

“The music to be played is a compilation of your favourite pieces that I play for you.  The cake is the orange one that you liked. Although, to be fair, Watson was very fond of that one too.  Every step of the planning involved you.”

Sherlock could tell the exact moment that it all dawned on John that he had, in fact, helped organise this wedding.  

“Oh, my god” he said lightly.  “How could I not know that I had been planning my own bloody wedding?”

Sherlock shrugged.  He thought it had been rather obvious.

“How did no one mention this to me?” He asked, looking out at their guests, waiting patiently in the seats.

At this, Sherlock may have blushed.  “I, umm, may have forgotten to send out the invitations.  They all got a text message at eleven thirty last night.”

John laughed, and despite it being the most wonderful sound it wasn’t helping Sherlocks mood at overlooking a very important part of the wedding planning.

“Now that it has been established that we want to marry each other and that this is, in fact, our wedding, can we get back to the actual wedding part of it all?”

John laughed again as he pulled Sherlock down into a kiss.  “You utterly mad man” he smiled between kisses.

“Yes, your utterly mad man.  Now, should we go?”

“I can’t believe it didn’t click.”

“Neither can I.  Why do you think I asked you to wear that suit this morning and meet me here?”

John laughed again.  “Because, my utterly mad man, life with you is always unexpected and never boring.  I had no idea what we were up to.”

Again, he smiled up at Sherlock.  

“Well, now you do, so, Doctor Watson, should we get married?” Sherlock asked, smiling back at John and holding out his hand.

“Oh, god yes” John replied, wrapping his fingers around Johns.  

And with that, they got married.


End file.
